Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 19

Emilie glanced back at the apartment building as the taxi pulled away. Jacques seemed to know the woman well. The hug may have been a greeting—it seemed innocent. But it could have been more. Their conversation was cryptic—intelligence contacts ensuring they weren’t watched. Or lovers, leery of discovery?

She assumed the worst. She had no reason not to. Even though she had a role to play in Paris, and Jacques was part of it, she did care about him. She never dreamed he would fall in love with another woman. He was married to his work—or at least he seemed to be—and she understood that. They lived in dangerous times. She had willingly taken second place since the day they had exchanged their wedding vows.

Now she wondered how long the affair had gone on, assuming it was an affair. She had no hints, no suspicions, although Jacques had become distant. But he was overwhelmed with the war. Everyone was. His meetings had increased, but he could be plotting strategy—based on his latest revelations. He usually met with Guy Barbier, a scary man who made her uncomfortable. But now it seemed he had a secret lover, an explanation for where he spent most evenings—if her assumptions were correct.

As the taxi rounded the corner, she leaned forward. “You can stop here.”

The driver eyed her in the rearview mirror. “Is anything wrong, Madame? You seem upset.”

“I’m all right,” she said, even though she wasn’t.

“Your eyes are misty,” he continued, occasionally glancing in the mirror. “Did you see something you didn’t expect to see?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, more for the driver’s benefit. When she first came to Paris, she was part of a grander plan. Betrayal was part of the equation. But she hadn’t expected to be the one betrayed—regardless of the reason. Unless there was a plausible explanation, and the woman was merely a contact in the murky world of intelligence.

“Let me take you home,” the driver offered. “I am turning off the meter. There will be no more cost to you.”

Emilie hesitated, but then gave him her address.

“Was it the man?” the driver pried as he drove to her apartment.

“It wasn’t what I expected,” she confessed.

He shrugged. “Maybe it isn’t what you think. An old friend, perhaps.”

She smiled weakly. “Yes, I suppose it could be. Or a work associate.”

The driver hesitated, his lips taut. “It’s always better to know the truth, is it not?”

A few minutes later, the taxi came to a stop. “Thank you so much,” Emilie said. “For everything.”

She paid the driver his partial fare, got out of the taxi, and went to the front door, not sure what to do. She had to be cautious—more than ever before. Jacques may not be the man she thought he was. But that would make it easier to betray him—as she had always known she must. Except now he might betray her first. Maybe it was a game they played, each pretending to be what they weren’t, prepared to turn on the other. It was much more complicated than she had assumed. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, her life was about to change. She just wasn’t sure how.

Louie Bassett had insisted she was in danger, but had offered no explanation. Maybe his warning referred to what she had just witnessed. Had she been given the address to open her eyes, so she saw what she never would have expected to see? Or was it a different danger, one that remained a mystery?

She entered the apartment, locking the door behind her. She paused in the foyer, looking in Jacques’s study. It was the only room that might have answers to her questions. She knew his routine. He wouldn’t be home for at least two hours. After a moment’s hesitation, she went in his study, where she rarely ventured, not unless he was in it. She sat behind his desk and eyed his domain.

She opened the top drawer and looked through it. Pens, notepads, pencils, paper clips, an address book—typical of any office. She skimmed through the address book, not recognizing the names. She opened the drawers on the right. Filled with files, military papers depicting plans that might never be realized, different contingencies for war, efforts to continue regardless of battle conditions—all what she would expect from a man who was part of military intelligence. A quick glance at the documents proved her husband was far more involved in clandestine operations than she had ever imagined. The remaining drawers contained similar information but related to railroads—what she would find in his government office. After a quick review, she saw nothing to indicate who the woman was at #8 Rue Serpente.

She came out from behind the desk and scanned the office. Bookshelves were scattered along three walls, most filled with leather volumes, paintings of Napoleonic battles dressing the open space, all from her antique shop. She looked at some of the ornaments resting on the shelves, a miniature of Napoleon on his horse, a bust of Davout, one of the emperor’s greatest generals. As she scanned the items, she noticed a thick leather volume, lying on its side on a shelf behind his desk. She didn’t recognize it, even though the title Napoleon’s Battlefields, was a volume that would have come from her shop.

Napoleon’s BattlefieldsShe took the book from the shelf. It was surprisingly light. When she opened it, she found the text had been hollowed out. The open space contained folded documents marked secret, identity papers, forged and almost completed—missing only photographs with a few empty lines. But most surprising, were several stacks of currency in large denominations.

It was a lot of money, more than Jacques could ever earn in a lifetime.